Haunting Memories
by MTarrant
Summary: SLASH! Paris and Achilles met 5 years before the events of Troy. When Troy finally fell, it was more difficult for Paris to kill Achilles than one may think.
1. chapter 1

HAUNTING MEMORIES  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own any of the beautiful people from the movie Troy.  
  
WARNING: This is SLASH. Meaning, male/male relationship. Please don't read if you don't approve of such things. The rest of ya's... enjoy.   
  
Note: I've only seen the movie once so far.. the characters might be OoC, but I'll try my best.  
  
Summary: Achilles and Paris meet five years prior to the events of Troy.

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CHAPTER 1  
  
Both Achilles and Paris spent many days chasing women. They would love one, then another, and another. The men would proclaim their love to each one, night after night. But the women were not naïve. They saw through the illusion. They saw each man for who he really was: a lost soul trying to drown his memories.  
  
This is their untold story.

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Achilles winced as his tired body finally lay down to rest. He had sailed for many days and many nights on his solo trip from Greece to Troy. Many begged to accompany him, but he refused. He did not want to be bothered by some clumsy, narrow-minded soldier. He was much better off alone.  
  
Alone. That's all he ever was. Between the battles and the "glory", he had little time for other, more pleasant things. He wondered if he ever would.  
  
Achilles certainly would not have time for any of that now. He replayed the King's instructions in his head. King Agamemnon wanted land and power, and there were no limits to his greed. What he wanted most, though, was Troy. He felt rage and jealousy at the mere thought of the beautiful, magnificent, powerful kingdom that was Troy. He wanted it for himself. Rather, he wanted to destroy it and show the world who ruled all kingdoms. But Agamemnon was not a fool, and he knew that waging war right away would prove fatal for his soldiers. So, he made other plans.  
  
With much persuasion and promise of wealth and glory, Achilles, the most powerful warrior of Greece, was sent on a mission. He was instructed to kidnap the youngest prince of Troy and take him back to Greece. The two kings would then... negotiate, and if all went as planned, King Priam would get his son back while King Agamemnon would get Troy, or at least command of its troops for starters.  
  
Achilles made himself as comfortable as possible in his makeshift camp and fell into a restless sleep.

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Paris crept down the dark streets of his city. Even though the sun had set hours ago, he wore peasant clothes anyway, for he didn't want any late night passersby to recognize him. He walked straight to a secret passage way out of the city that his brother had once shown him. All the while, tried to clear his mind of the events earlier that day.  
  
"Son, you must learn to fight. You must become better than any of those common soldiers. You are royalty," his father had said.  
  
"I have no wish to learn such a craft, father," Paris replied, his voice and face steady. "I shall not kill other men."  
  
"What is a man who cannot fight?" his father reasoned. He loved his son with all of his heart, but things had to be said. "Hector is the finest warrior in all of Troy. You must follow in his footsteps for your own safety!"  
  
"I am not Hector, father! Accept me. Accept me for who I am. I will not conform to the violent customs of this society." With that, Paris charged out of the room and did not look back.  
  
Now, as he got closer to the secret passage way out of the city, he took deep, long breathes with every stride. It was all he could do to keep his anger and frustration from getting the better of him.  
  
Paris swiftly made his way out of the city and was instantly greeted by the refreshing breeze accompanying the familiar splashing of the sea. He came here often, when no one was looking, to clear his mind. He ran toward the shore with a grace and swiftness worthy of a prince. So lost was he in this sudden freedom that he did not feel a pair of eyes watching him.

* * *

Achilles woke with a start, his reflexes causing him to nearly destroy a threatening bush. He shook his head to clear his senses and immediately heard light footfalls on sand only steps away. He peered through the brush that surrounded him and saw a dark figure run toward the sea and stop at its edge. Deciding to confront the unwanted stranger in the hopes of scaring him away, Achilles emerged from his hideout.  
  
"I would advise you to return from whence you came, stranger," he said softly, his tone dripping with threat.  
  
Paris whipped around toward the voice. His heart hammered in his chest, being caught so completely off guard. He instantly regained his outward composure and tried to discern the voice's owner. All he could see in the darkness, though, was the outline of a well sculpted figure and moonlit long hair.  
  
"You must be a stranger to these lands, then, for we do not threaten our own people," Paris said in his most smooth and regal voice. "You should hasten to leave. You are not welcome here."  
  
If not for the darkness, Paris would have seen a look of utter shock and rage fill Achilles' face. Never before had a stranger so boldly assaulted him with such words. In three big strides, the blond warrior closed the distance between them.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" he spat venomously, a mere inch from the other's face. "If you do, you are a fool. If you don't, you are an ignorant fool."  
  
Paris held his breath. He suddenly remembered that he didn't bring any weapons. He was about to reply in hopes of catching the man off guard and possibly buying more time to think when they both heard voices a short distance away.  
  
Achilles, thinking quickly, grabbed the stranger, covered his mouth, and dove them both into the protection of the brush. He knew that a confrontation between himself and a larger group of people would result in a battle... which would in turn result in him standing amid a pile of dead bodies. Achilles had no desire to be crowned victor of a worthless fight. As for the stranger... it was too risky to let him walk free.  
  
Paris struggled against the man in vain, for he was completely pinned to the ground. Eventually, though, he lay still and tried to formulate a plan. He could feel the other man's breath on his neck and the heat of his body on top of him. He was going to find out who this unwelcomed stranger was, one way or another.  
  
After what seemed like ages, the voices disappeared and the two men were once again alone. Having been pressed against the other man for so long, Achilles was able to discern that he had thick, perfectly curly hair and a lean yet muscled body. He almost wished for daylight so he could see him properly, but he knew that their little meeting would most probably end in a death. Most of Achilles' "meetings" ended that way. He released his hold on the man and stood.  
  
"Get up," he commanded.  
  
Paris rose to his feet and was instantly met with a sword tip at his neck.

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Sooo? What do ya think? Should I continue?


	2. chapter 2

NOTE: Woohooooo, thank you for the reviews! Some people pointed out a specific phrase that they liked, and that is very helpful. It helps a writer figure out what little things make a story work. ;) I think someone mentioned that Paris/Achilles was a strange pairing and it would make more sense to do a Hector/Achilles instead (which I might do in another story!)... I agree, but I looooooove Orlando Bloom, even though he was a coward throughout most of the film. Being a coward saved Paris' life in the movie.. I prefer to have him alive than die with 'honor.' Anyway, enjoy!!

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CHAPTER 2  
  
Paris trembled, and visibly. "You are making a big mistake," he whispered.  
  
"And why is that," Achilles said, not really waiting for an answer. He pressed the sword tip further into the young man's neck, enough to draw forth a trickle of blood.  
  
"Because I am a prince of Troy!" Paris blurted. To reveal a member of a royal family's identity to a stranger and have no means of protection at the same time was considered to be a grave mistake, but this was a crucial moment. Paris felt the sting at his neck and the warm liquid escaping at a faster rate, and he hoped that his outburst would buy him some time... time to do what? Beg for his life?  
  
But the gods must have been on the young prince's side that night, for the sword was instantly removed.  
  
Achilles lowered his weapon and stared at the other man. "You lie," he said at length.  
  
His heart pounding with cautious hope, Paris pulled back his sleeve and removed an armlet from his wrist. He held it so the moonlight shone on the delicate silver insignia that marked the royal house of Troy.  
  
"So it is true," Achilles mumbled. He examined the prince in the moonlight with narrowed eyes and said, "If I am sure of one thing, it is that you are not Hector. I would have suffered at least a scratch by now. You must be the youngest prince, then. Paris."  
  
Paris shivered at the sound of his name. Through the darkness, he sensed the other man smile, and it somehow made him feel worse. He briefly wondered if maybe he had eluded death only to suffer something more terrible.  
  
Achilles was slightly taken aback at how easily he had found the prince. Also, there was now reason to spare the young man's life and momentarily suspend the otherwise constant increase of deaths Achilles had caused.  
  
"You are coming with me," the warrior stated and roughly grabbed Paris by his wrist. He dragged him around a bend until a lone ship came into view.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Paris shouted, now on the verge of panic.  
  
Achilles ignored him. He briskly pulled the prince all the way on to the ship, opened a door that led to a room below deck, and unceremoniously pushed the young man through it.  
  
Before Paris could protest, he heard the door slam and lock behind him. Stunned, all he could do was silently survey his surroundings. The room was spacious enough and lit by carefully placed candles. He vaguely noted a bed, expensive coverings, and platters of fruit on a low table. On trembling legs, he slowly made his way toward a wall and slid to the floor, the hard wood supporting his back. Time passed and Paris was soon too weary from fear to stay awake. He closed his eyes and finally drifted into blissful darkness.

* * *

Achilles woke early in a less than good mood. Somehow, kidnapping princes was not terribly fulfilling. He stood on deck for a while, enjoying the feel of the morning sun on his skin. He nodded in polite acknowledgement to one of the only two crew members of the ship. On the way to Troy, they kept their distance as much as possible. Achilles hoped that the trip back would be the same.  
  
Finally, the warrior decided it was time to pay the young prince a visit. He regretted being so careless, for he almost killed the man he came all this way for. Paris had been visibly afraid of him last night, and Achilles had to somehow fix that. The journey back to Greece was long, and it would do no one good to have a terrified prince on board.  
  
He opened the cabin door and stepped inside. He instantly spotted the prince, who was curled up on the floor against the far wall, his face hidden in his arms. Achilles sighed and went to him, kneeling at his side. Paris looked to be asleep, so Achilles decided to take advantage of the moment and examine the prince's neck wound. He gently turned the prince so that his arms fell away from his face and his neck was in view.  
  
Achilles, who vanquished men and defied gods, was made momentarily breathless.  
  
The prince was... beautiful.  
  
He had a flawlessly, delicately sculpted face. His rich brown locks were worthy of an Olympian god, and they framed his face perfectly. Achilles involuntarily rested his fingers to the sleeping man's temple. The prince stirred from the touch, causing Achilles to nearly fall backwards in alarm.  
  
Paris opened his eyes slowly, for a second believing that he was still in the safety of his sleeping quarters at Troy. As his vision came into focus, he saw a man's face watching him intently. Suddenly, all of his memories flooded back, and he violently lurched away from the man and against an adjacent wall.  
  
Exasperated, Achilles said, "I'm not going to hurt you." Remembering the neck wound, he added, "Again, that is."  
  
Paris stared at the other man. He was frozen in place, but this time by awe rather than by fear. Under different circumstances, he would have thought that the warrior before him was Apollo himself. The man had long, golden hair. It seemed that his blue eyes had a light of their own as they pierced the distance between them. There was something more than human about the perfection of the muscles that rested beneath his faultless, smooth skin. Staring at this man was like staring at the sun, and soon Paris found himself blinking several times.  
  
Achilles swallowed, hard. He found that the prince's staring was making him strangely uncomfortable. He averted his eyes and rose slowly, as to not startle him, and made his way to the low table where a bowl of water lay. He silently brought that and a piece of cloth to where Paris still sat. He once again crouched next to the prince and dipped the cloth into the water. The prince's neck wound was deeper than Achilles thought. There was more than enough dried blood on Paris' neck and collar, and the wound itself had only recently clotted.  
  
"Here," Achilles said softly and made to clean off the blood. Paris jerked away before the cloth could touch his neck.  
  
"Who are you? Where are you taking me?" Paris yelled.  
  
Achilles sighed. Keeping his voice soft, he said, "My name is Achilles."  
  
Paris' heart began to hammer so loudly that he was afraid the other would hear it.  
  
"Your...your legend is well known in...in Troy," he stammered. Now he knew who the stranger was. He was the best warrior in Greece. Some said he could not be killed. And this warrior was sitting just inches away.  
  
"Yes," Achilles said. "I have killed many. But you must learn, young Paris," he added, almost wistfully, as he once more went to reach the wet cloth to his neck, "there is always more to a 'legend' than many men will ever make an effort to uncover."

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Well? Well well well??? Do I hear a chapter 3??  
  
I know, the whole cloth scene is a lot like in the movie where Achilles tries to clean off Briseis' wounds, but it's like that for a reason, I promise! ;)  
  
By the way, does anyone know how long it would take to sail from Greece to Troy? I want to be accurate time-wise in this story. 


End file.
